terra
BY RUTH COOLIDGE
Sasha teaches me
how to pound clay,
shape a sphere
absent of air
red earthenware
he says, showing
blood-caked palms
around, around,
my thumb gouges
a rut at the equator
he dips ruddy hands
into the water, says
let the slip form
braced on the basin
his forearms hold
still, hands press
mine to the wet.
hold for now,
don’t shape
around, around,
the clay works itself
to center within our hold
now we can begin to open